


Chief of the Four Favored Angels

by cosmic_medusa



Series: We Three Kings [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Addiction, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 12:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18142286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmic_medusa/pseuds/cosmic_medusa
Summary: Gabriel surprises his brother with a visit. Because why wouldn't anyone want to see him?





	Chief of the Four Favored Angels

_Gabriel was the medium through whom God revealed the Qur'an to Muhammad, and that_  
he sent a message to most prophets, if not all, revealing their obligations: he is called   
the chief of the four favored angels and the spirit of truth. — **The Holy Spirit in the Quran**

 

Cas opened the door without checking, assuming it was Sam, who was scheduled to spend the weekend with them. He didn’t have time to register that it wasn’t before he was swept up in a hug and spun in a fast, hard circle, the cream colored walls, gray sofa, and dark green carpet blurring together, with flashes of black and red indicating the vintage rock posters Dean had framed and decorated their living room with.

“My baby bro!” a voice bellowed, and Cas received a wet, ridiculously sloppy kiss on the cheek before he was dumped on his feet. “Goddamn is it good to see you! By the way, you owe me half of the rental car, because you didn’t tell me you lived out in the friggin’ sticks. What do you _do_ out here?”

Cas slowly felt his brain catching up. “Gabriel.”

“In the flesh!” his brother held out his arms and gave his patent smarmy smile. “Aw hell—gimme another!” he grabbed him up tight, nearly lifting Cas off the floor.

“I—I had no idea you—how’d you get here?” Cas grunted as his elder brother threatened to crush his ribs.

“Plane, kiddo. Got to try it sometime. You know...make your way to the East Coast?” He dropped Cas without ceremony and opened the screen door, grabbing bags off the porch. “Do you have any idea how Goddamn torturous family dinners are with you hanging around out here?” he dumped a backpack and suitcase at Cas’ feet.

“You’re...staying awhile?”

“I was gonna get a hotel, but the only one around is the Express down the highway. And God knows I love to slum, but even I’ve got limits.” 

“I...didn’t know. I didn’t tell Dean.”

“Problem?” Gabriel asked, eyes wandering around their livingroom.

“No. I mean...it shouldn’t be. It’s just, we expect company in the guest room—”

“Christ, Cas, I can sleep on the couch.” To demonstrate, he flopped down and sighed, putting his feet up. “Means I get dibs on the late night TV.” He winked at him and reached for the remote. Cas recovered from his shock and realized, almost to his own surprise, that he was genuinely happy his brother was here.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. Gabriel grinned.

“Naturally.” He tossed aside the remote and sat up, kicking off his shoes. “Sorry to show up unannounced and all. Even I’m not that rude. Most of the time.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Clusterfuck in American Airlines. One minute I’m off for a great weekend in L.A., the next I’m sitting in Kansas looking at a board of canceled flights. So I figured I’d switch my tickets and go pay a long overdue visit to my favorite bro.”

“I take it...Michael told you about his trip,” Cas said slowly. Gabriel cocked an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of him.”

“Of course not.”

“Bro, look at you! You’ve got a family, a nice house, a great career. Screw Mike and his rat pack.”

 Cas relaxed. He hadn’t expected recriminations from Gabriel over Michael’s trip, but it was still a relief to know they weren’t coming. “How’s Mom?”

“Mama Morgan is off in Italy with the unholy banshees she calls sisters. As far as I know, they haven’t caused any international incidents, although Ralph keeps bitching about the credit card statements.” He snorted. “He’s gotten _way_ worse. You got to promise if I get whacked that you’ll tell the cops he’s got kiddie porn or something, because I guarantee he’ll be behind it. Mike’s definitely gonna get the piano wire if Ralph doesn’t get his share of the diamonds when Ma goes.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Cas scolded.

“Relax. You did well getting the hell out when you did. Me, I’m reveling in their disapproval. Probably the most attention I’ve ever gotten.” Gabe kicked off his shoes and plopped his sock-covered feet on the coffee table. “And for the record, I missed you like a mad beast at Thanksgiving, because Mike got his _ass_ handed to him by Lou.”

“What? Why?”

“Get this—” the doorbell rang. Cas had nearly forgotten about Sam. Gabe shot to his feet. “Go on. I’ll play nice.” Cas opened the door and found himself holding his breath.

“Sam,” he said, smiling. Behind him, Andy’s ridiculously over-painted van sat humming in the road. He’d become the go-to driver for Sam and his circle, most of whom had suspended licenses or no income to keep up with car payments. Sam, Dean, and Cas had all offered to chip in with gas or maintenance, but the young man had assured them he was doing fine, and it meant a lot that he could get his friends to where they needed to be without worrying they’d call up an old dealer or user-friend for a lift.

 Andy honked once, and Sam tossed a quick wave back as his friend pulled away.

“No matter what time it is, he always waits for me to get inside wherever I’m going,” Sam smiled, stepping into the livingroom. “He’s a soccer-Mom at heart.” His eyes fell on Gabriel, and the relaxed smile immediately dissipated. Sam was so close to normal most days that Cas still forgot, at times, just how anxious he could be around strangers.

“Is this loverboy?” Gabe asked, and Cas briefly wanted to fall through the floor.

“No. This is Sam, Dean’s brother. He’ll be spending the weekend here.”

“Ah, so _this_ is Sam.” Gabriel clapped the younger Winchester heavily on the shoulder. “Good to meet you, Trainspotting! I’m Gabe. The best of Cas’ pack of big bros.”

Sam’s face seemed to lose its color as fast as something out of a movie. He opened his mouth, closed it, and turned to Cas.

“Gabriel dropped in just a bit ago,” Cas said, hoping against hope that Sam wouldn’t be mad. He realized it was inevitable that Dean would be, for subjecting Sam to a sudden assault by one of his brothers a mere few weeks after Michael’s disastrous visit.

“Yeah. Don’t try to make it cross-country last minute on a weekend.” He grinned at Sam. “Damn you’re tall, kid. And you look good. Cas told me it was rough there for awhile.”

Oh God. Nothing set Sam off worse than fearing what people said about him behind his back. The normally bright boy stood, dumbstruck, staring at Gabriel like he’d never seen another human before.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking. I heard you wanted to be the next Johnny Cochran, but c’mon—everyone’s buying memoirs. You’ve got to go Million Little Pieces on this one, buddy. And when you do, you gotta promise you’ll let me tag along to Oprah. Because—and this _never_ leaves this room—I would _so_ tap that.” He slings an arm around a still-horrified Sam and leans close. “I would have her just about anywhere. Even without makeup, that’s how sick I am.”

“Um...Gabe—” Cas tried.

“I’m not saying I’m _proud_ of it. I’m just saying that’s how it is.” He winked at Sam. “Picture it...back in her dressing-suite, mirrors everywhere, the stage lights shining from above...”

From the back of the house, a door slammed shut. “Cas!” Dean bellowed. “Want barbecue tonight? Sammy get in yet?”

“We’re here, Dean,” Cas called. Dean strode in to the living room only to halt at the sight of a stranger with his arm draped around a wide-eyed Sam. “We have company?”

“Dean...this is my brother, Gabriel. Gabriel—”

“Romeo!” Gabe detached from Sam and swept Dean into a crushing embrace. “I know, I know—you’re a tough guy who doesn’t do hugs, and I should hate you for stealing my kid bro away to bang, but goddamnit, we’re family now.” Gabe detached from a stunned Dean and smiled. “And look—I get it, I’m an asshole for crashing. So I want to buy us a good weekend. Movies, meals out, chicks, drinks, you name it.”

“Gabe...we don’t drink,” Cas reminded him.

“Yeah, I know, but a margarita or two?” The Winchesters stared at him blankly. “Fine. Beer?” Nothing. “Non-alcoholic beer?” he looked around, suddenly desperate. “ _Mudslide_?”

“Gabe—”

“Jesus Christ. Suck out my soul why don’t you. _Fine._ All the High-C you can handle. Not implying anything, Basketball Diaries,” he grinned and winked at Sam. Dean’s eyes narrowed in that deadly way he had.

“Dude...I don’t care if you’re blood with Cas. If you’re as big a dick as your brother, you need to find somewhere else to stay.”

“Relax, Casanova,” Gabe gave a fake, long-suffering sigh and slumped onto the couch. “I am absolutely a dick. Maybe as big as Mike. But we’ve got different markets cornered.” He smiled at Sam. “Look, kiddo. I’m just trying to break the ice, okay? You three have been through a shit-storm, and I’m not just talking your rehab or our idiot brother. I’m here to get to bring joy and happiness and check-in on my kid bro.” He shifted his gaze to Dean. “We’re a protective breed, big brothers. Especially those of us with dick dads.”

Dean looked from Gabriel to Cas. Sam slowly lowered his backpack and smiled shyly.

“I...don’t know what Cas has said. But I, um...” he glanced at Dean, gathered strength, and looked back. “I was pretty messed up for awhile.”

“I heard. But now all’s well. Except you look like an anorexic cheerleader. Speaking of which,” he clapped his hands, “I’m _starving_. You want to eat out or in? It’s on me either way. You want to eat in, I’m cooking.”

“Since when do you cook?” Cas asked.

“Bro, you show me a phonebook, I’ll show you a feast.” He winked. “Anything you want. Though, if you don’t mind, I’d like to say that Cas should choose, because he’s got a bad habit of being a Victorian Mother and going along with whatever makes everyone else happy, even if he secretly would murder many small animals for a steak.”

Dean relaxed, ever so slightly. Sam’s smile turned bright and genuinely amused, and Cas felt his own growing.

“There’s a great barbecue/soul-food place a few minutes away,” he suggested.

“Awesome! One car or two? Dean, what do you drive?”

“A 1967 Chevy Impala.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Got her in the garage.”

“I’m calling shotgun. Everyone has ten minutes to wash up and be there, because airplane peanuts don’t cut it. Cas, where I can powder my nose?”

Cas showed Gabriel the downstairs bathroom while Sam and Dean went upstairs. Cas followed a minute later, hearing the Winchesters talking low and soft in the guest room. Dean emerged and headed into the bedroom to change.

“He didn’t tell me he was coming. I’m sorry,” Cas said.

“Dude, what is it with your brothers? They haven’t been around all this time, and now they are?”

“You know what Michael wanted,” Cas said carefully, and Dean grunted as he yanked off his shirt, “Gabriel is...a character. But I really believe he came out here for me.”

“I hear you. And I don’t want to be rude to your family or anything, but...we can’t have a Michael replay.” He pulled on a fresh t-shirt and started hunting around for an overshirt. “And not just for Sammy. You may have acted like you were fine, but I know you weren’t, man. They’re your blood, and they should stand by you. You’ve tried to stand by them.”

“Gabe is different.”

“Forget Gabe. Forget Sam and Michael and me. Do _you_ want to do this? Because if you don’t, I’ll send him packing.”

Cas felt warmth in his stomach. Dean had been the first person who had ever asked him what _he_ wanted. After all this time, it still felt miraculous.

“I want us to go to dinner. And if it goes well, I want Gabriel to spend the weekend here.”

“Done,” Dean said. “Now, where’s that girly man-perfume you own, because I’ve been under a friggin’ Honda all day and don’t have time to shower.”

***

“My name is Gabriel,” Gabe declared. “And I have a problem. I need your support, care, and understanding.”

“Of course, Gabriel,” Sam said solemnly.

“I’m in love with a woman I can’t have.”

“I’m not judging you for that.”

“She’s married.”

“Are there children?”

“She can’t say.”

“I see.”

“But I want her. I want to be with her. I want to make _love_ to her.”

“You are not touching, let alone _dry humping_ , my car,” Dean snapped.

“See, Sam? No one understands.”

“Her husband seems to be very controlling,” Sam agreed.

“Screw you both,” Dean said, hiding a smile.

“He’s insanely jealous. He doesn’t let other men near her. He claims he made her everything she is. He claims she was nothing but scrap and remade her.”

“That’s common with many personality disorders. Even bipolar disorder.”

“She says his moods can be volatile. One minute he’s moseying along, slow and sweet, the next he’s barreling over hills and throughways. He ignores it when she just wants to go slow. And God forbid you listen to _her_ music.”

“You two are a riot,” Dean deadpanned, reaching into the basket of French fries. “Seriously. I’m polishing the Globes.”

“Do you _see_?” Gabriel faux-whispered, leaning close to Sam. “He’s very passive-aggressive.”

“And judgmental.”

“She said she’s just with him for his looks. I get that. But what about a man who knows how to please her?”

Sam made a face. “Looks? I don’t see it.”

Dean attempted to kick his brother under the table. Sam grinned and dodged the blow. “She’s mine,” Dean growled. “And she loves me. And your words aren’t gonna woo her away, asshat.”

“I validate everyone’s feelings,” Cas said grimly. Sam burst out laughing. Dean smiled warmly, and Gabe shook his head.

“Well played, brother,” he said with a wink. “See? There’s a reason we’re the favorites.”

“One another’s favorites,” Cas corrected.

“That’s a given. They’ve met the Dick-in-Chief.”  Gabriel grabbed a chicken wing and gnawed on it like he was famished. His declaration that he’d order for everyone had resulted in the table being covered in baskets of just about everything the restaurant made. When the waitress had raised an eyebrow, he’d pulled out his credit card and leaned back with a sly grin. “Visa me up, baby. Believe me, there’s loads more where that came from.”

The waitress had flashed an engagement ring his way and stalked off with the card in her hand.

“So, Dean—for real. How the hell did you get your hands on that car?”

Dean beamed and leaned back, arm across the back of the bench. There’d been a bit of tension about seats when they’d seen the booth: Dean clearly didn’t want Sam sitting next to Gabriel, but he also didn’t want to leave Cas on his own. Gabe had solved the problem by wrapping Cas in his arms and nearly throwing them into the left bench, leaving the Winchesters to the other.

“Year I turned twenty-one, guy who runs an auto-salvage/scrap place that works with the garage said I could have my pick of any frame I wanted and he’d give me any parts on discount. She was buried in the back, seats and all. When I figured she was the real deal, he charged me next to nothing to rebuild her. Guessing he wanted to see her in full glory as much as I did.”

Cas glanced at Sam, who was smiling, but also breaking a piece of cornbread into small pieces in a clear effort to stave off anxiety. Bobby and Ellen hadn’t gifted the car solely for Dean’s twenty-first birthday: it was soon after Sam’s near fatal fight with his father. Dean had broken with John for good, and found himself struggling to pay for Sam’s healthcare and their own place. The car he had at the time, which was on its last leg to begin with, was constantly stop-starting, stop-starting, and at least once a weak they’d nearly miss follow-up appointments with doctors and lawyers.

Bobby had, in fact, wanted to flat out give them a new car, but Ellen had told Cas that she had convinced him to let Dean have his pick of scrap and rebuild, because the boys were both too prideful to take charity. It had definitely been the right decision. Dean had thrown himself into rebuilding the Impala, and Sam, whose attendance at school was delayed by his head-injury, was able to help by scouring the internet and calling around for discount parts and, on his good days, visit the Singer’s yard to help Dean turn bolts, or at least pass wrenches and keep him company.

“She is _gorgeous_. A work of art. Hey, Cassie, did I tell you what I did to the Lamborghini?”

“Not now, Gabriel.”

“Well, before you hear Ralph’s side, remember—it wasn’t my fault.”

“Why is Ralph in charge of your car?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“He’s the family comptroller.”

“I thought Michael was,” Sam said.

“No, he’s the President. Ralph’s the head of the Fed. I’m mixing my metaphors.” He sighed and shoved more fries in his mouth. “Look,” he said, still chewing “you want to know the down and dirty? Here it is. We’ve got Mike, who you’ve had the pleasure of meeting; Ralph, who’s a mini-Mike; and Lou, who can be kind of awesome when he’s not being psychotic. Except he’s usually kinda psychotic.” Gabe rolled his eyes.

“Honestly?” Dean said. “Between you, Cas, and Mikey—it’s like you’re not even from the same _planets_.”

“We’re not, dude. Me and Cassie here were the first to ever wonder if there was a world outside the Morgan millions. We’ve had rather different takes on what we’ve found,” he admitted, “and I don’t want to sound like a dick when I say I’ve used my share to indulge in the more frivolous sides of life. Money can’t buy happiness and all that.”

“It helps,” Dean said sharply.

“I hear you. Again...I’m a dick. But not _that_ big of one. If I’d known you and the Big Friendly Giant here back in the dark days, I’d of showered you with so much money you’d of thought you’d landed in Cash Grab.”

“Money wasn’t the issue.”

“ _Dean. I get it._ Seriously, relax. Don’t get me wrong. Cas and me didn’t grow up like you did. But we still get the two-against-the-world-thing. Except Cas still cares what they think. Believe me, be lucky it was just you two. Because on top of the whole fuck-you-all-Dad complex, we got three uber- competitive bros in the deal.”

“Who’s older again?” Sam asked, trying to change the subject. “Michael’s the oldest—”

“Mike and Lou are in the lead—three years between them. Then four after Lou gave us Ralph, and two years later, yours truly. And _then_ , ten years later, the stork swung by and surprised us our wittle baby Cassie!” he leaned over and pinched Cas’ cheek, ignoring his brother’s attempts to bat him away. “Our own special little miracle!” He dropped his voice and assumed a ‘Biblical’ tone. “Lo, Sarah, at the age of 350 billion, found herself with child. And Abraham said ‘Holy Lord, thou art the giver of my sperm—”

“What’s with your names?”  

“Sammy,” Dean scolded lightly in his ‘don’t be rude’ parental voice.

“No, really. Michael, Raphael, Gabriel—a little old school, right?”

Gabriel’s eyebrows instantly shot up, just as a sly grin appeared on his face. “Do you know Cas’ and Lou’s full names?”

“Gabriel,” Cas warned.

“Hooooly, _shit_ , bro. You didn’t _tell_ them?”

“Our Mother is an artist,” Cas defended. Sam pouted.

“Dean knows Cas’ full name, but he won’t tell me.”

“You were rooting around in his wallet swiping cash for months. You didn’t think to check his driver’s license?”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He looked from Gabriel, to Cas, to Gabriel, to Cas, and back to Gabriel, who clapped him on the arm. “This is your brain on drugs, kid.”

“Now I really _will_ have to hide my license,” Cas chuckled.

“It never even _occurred_ to me,” Sam pouted. “So...what _is_ it?”

“Hey,” the elder Morgan said, grabbing a fistful of fries, “if my bro’s not telling, _I’m_ not telling.”

“That’s just... _mean_.”

“Sorry, dude, but I’m my father’s son. You won’t get a word out of me.” Gabe grinned. “I haven’t even filled you in on some of the latest drama, bro,” he said to Cas, and leaned conspiratorially across the table, causing them all to pull in. “Word on the street is, Mikey’s overseeing Dad’s final will. Which would be all well and good, except he’s trying to get a good portion of the estate left to Lou instead of Ralph, which Ralph just isn’t having. Because as a big a dick as he is—and trust me, Lou is a whole new level of me and Mike when it comes to dick—everyone knows Lou is Dad _and_ Mike’s favorite.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “I mean...from what Cas has told us, he has a temper, and he’s a really brutal businessman, and he starts a lot of fights.”

“All true. _But_ , he can make Mikey smile. And laugh. _No one_ does that. And as for Dad? He’s the only one who ever stands up to him.”

“But...Cas says Ralph is basically a mini-Mike, which means he must be pretty loyal to your Dad. Why wouldn’t _he_ be their favorite?”

“Give me a break. You guys have seen ‘The Little Mermaid,’ right? Now, we all know, if given a chance, we’d bang the Mermaids. Hands down. But you know who you’d want to have a beer with? Ursula. That bitch has brains and smarts and doesn’t care what she has to do to get her way. And there isn’t a gentleman in the world who doesn’t respect that.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Ariel’s like...sixteen. And looks fourteen!”

“Way to miss the point, kid,” Gabriel shook his head. “I give a brilliant analogy and that’s what Robert Downey Jr. comes back with?”

“My brother’s name is Sam,” Dean snapped. “I call him Sammy. No one else gets to. I get that you’re trying to be funny and cute and all that, but quit nicknaming him.”

Gabe sobered. “Guys...I’m not trying to offend. Okay? This is heavy stuff. It’s hard. For all of us. And I’m...not you. I can’t...I _hate_ fighting. I _hate_ it. It’s not that I don’t care that it’s happening, or that I haven’t watched Oprah and Dr. Phil hoping to fix it. But from all the shit you guys have endured—and I’m not trying to say you _haven’t_ —but you guys don’t _fight_. Not like us. It’s hell. It’s exhausting. And it’s friggin’ _scary._ And goddamn I wish I had a drink,” Gabriel sighed. “Please? Just one beer?”

Sam touched Gabe’s arm lightly. “Hey. If you really want one, we’re not gonna judge.”

“Godamnit, kid. Stick a knife in my gut.” He sighed. “Fine. Dessert? I’m gonna order like Ocotomom before she dropped the motherload. Buckle up.”

***

Back home, Dean put on a comedy he’d ordered from their Netflix account. Gabriel shifted and squirmed and finally accepted Sam’s glass of punch, even as he winced while he drank it. When Sam gently joked that he’d ever wondered if he was an alcoholic, Gabe scoffed and said “kid, alcoholics go to meetings. I’m just a drunk,” and downed more punch.

Gabe’s potential overindulgence in alcohol aside, Cas had never been prouder of his brother. Gabriel covered up his feelings with a mask of humor and joy that reminded him of Dean’s nervous façade. To take even a few minutes out to speak soberly, and honestly, about their family dynamics, and the hurt it caused him, was a rare moment only ever experienced in huddled, exhausted, exasperated moments, when the two of them had holed up in some bedroom to avoid the war going on just outside the door. The fact that Gabriel had admitted any of it, to people he’d barely met, spoke of his brother’s devotion: even if it didn’t quite fit the Winchester’s definition.

“Judd Apatow was finished in 2008,” Gabe said.

“Blasphemer,” Dean countered.

“Superbad? Amazing. But Knocked Up? You’d marry Seth Rogan?”

“If it would give me access to Katherine Heigel? I’d murder a priest.”

“You cheat on my baby bro and I will murder you so bad you’ll be dead!” Gabe roared.

“No brother sex!” Sam shouted, slapping his hand over Gabe’s mouth. The older Morgan brother’s eyes widened in Cas’ directly as he pointed and made angry motions with his fists, before slumping down in his chair and crossing his arms in a fake pout. Part of Cas was more than a little worried that Sam and Gabriel—who lived a life anything _but_ encouraging of sobriety—seemed to have hit it off effortlessly. The other part was so relieved to see Sam smiling and laughing that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sam _deserved_ laughter, and compassion, and happiness, and to enjoy his time with family. Just as they’d all enjoyed the meal Gabe had bought them, the groceries—mainly junk food—he’d paid for, and the ridiculous, overblown approach he’d taken.  

“Shut it—shut it! This is funny,” Dean muttered. While watching, he’d slipped his hand casually into Cas’, and Cas instantly squeezed back.  It felt so domestic, so simple, so _normal_. Something he’d always wanted as a kid. Something they’d _all_ wanted.

For a second he felt deep, overwhelming melancholy. Gabe was going to leave. Sam was going to go back to the group home. Jess and Madison were gone. He had multiple brothers who would never set foot in his home, or be happy and proud of him. His parents—

And then Dean’s hand left his and drifted up his arm and landed on the other side of his shoulder, and Cas could lean back and thank God, again, that he had what he did, in the here and now.

***

“Dude. Your family...” Dean flopped on his back, sending the bed knocking against the wall. Cas grunted. Every time he saw infomercials with couples sleeping peacefully beside one another because of some mattress miracle, he felt a stab of envy. No matter how long he endured it, he still marveled at Dean’s boundless _energy_.“You’ve told me about them, sure. And I don’t want to be rude or anything, but it’s like...schizophrenic.”  

“How do you mean?” Cas said carefully.

“You’re honest, detailed, and work yourself to the bone. Gabe’s a playboy. Mike’s a prick, but he’s still a big-wig. You have his work-ethic, but you have a soul. Gabe has no work-ethic, but _has_ the soul. At this point, I can’t imagine the other two.”

Cas closed his eyes. His brothers were...they just _were_. They’d been all he’d known for so long, he’d almost assumed everyone else knew them too.

“Ralph is pretty much like he said,” Cas admitted. “A...mini-Michael. Except we’ve both agreed that, secretly, he wants Mike out of the way so he can take over what’s his. He has all the attitude but less of the...intuition. He assumes what _he_ wants is right, whereas Michael assumes what our _Father_ wants is right. And...our Father is pretty much always right, even if he tends to send his orders from afar.”

“And Lou?”

“Like Gabe said...kind of awesome when he’s not a psycho, except he’s usually kind of a psycho.”

“They went into business and not medicine. And Dad was cool with that?”

“Our Father...doesn’t say much,” Cas said carefully. “But we all felt we were expected to be great.”

“But you left. You came out here. And so far, only the bros are bitching. Where’s Dad in all this?”

If anyone else had asked this, he would have gotten defensive. He would have towed the line and said his father was busy, his father was over-involved, his father was important. It was all true. But Dean was the first person to _ever_ look at him and not marvel at his status. Dean was sharp, observant, diligent, and protective: he evaluated the moves, attitudes, and history of everyone around him, and _especially_ everyone he’d potentially allow near Sam.

Dean also knew when not to push. When to just take what Cas or anyone else could give and move along until they could give more. So Cas said, honestly:

“I don’t know.”

He didn’t mean to sound sad. But when Dean’s hand arrived, reassuringly, on his chest, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

***

“No!”

The scream jolted them up and out of bed before either was fully awake.

“No, not—no!” Sam screamed again. “Dean! Jess!”  More wordless shouting, and then a crazed, final “ _Dean!_ ”

Dean was already racing down the hall, not bothering to knock as he slammed into the guest room, door swinging crazily behind him. Cas followed, hitting the light, which Dean squinted against as he shook his jerking younger brother.

“Sam—Sammy! C’mon, snap out of it!”

Sam flung his fist out and nearly hit his brother in the face. Dean caught his arm and gripped his brother’s forearms gently but firmly. “Sammy!” he barked.

Sam kicked, squirmed, and gasped awake with a mix of a sob and another scream. “Dean,” he whimpered. Dean’s face softened.

“Attaboy, Sam,” Dean murmured. “You with me?”

Sam nodded, sweat trailing down from his hair. He sat up carefully, Dean keeping a hand his back, thumb rubbing lightly while Sam rubbed his eyes and got his bearings.

“That’s it. We’re good. Been awhile, huh?” Dean smiled when Sam looked up at him through his bangs, looking all of four years old.

“I...I’m sorry.”

“Shove it.”

Cas ventured across the space between him and the brothers and perched on the foot of the bed. “Any idea what set it off?” he asked, keeping his voice low and calm, the way he would with distraught patients.

“There—there was a fire. Dean...” Sam’s shaking hands found his brother’s shirt and tangled. “Dean. Dean, you—Jess was—”

“Just a dream,” Dean said softly, letting his brother run his hands over his arms and stomach, testing for injuries. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

“Cas?” Sam started to drag himself out of bed.

“I’m here,” Cas said, reaching out and touching Sam’s leg. It wasn’t just the dream that had Sam disoriented—the valium and his anti-depressants were meant to help him sleep, but they also made coming _out_ of sleep difficult. “It’s alright, Sam. I changed all the batteries in the smoke alarms with you this afternoon, remember? And we locked up together. We’re safe.”

“I—” Sam’s voice wavered. “Jess was in a fire. Dean was—he was bleeding. Cas was...we couldn’t—”

“Okay, buddy, slow it down,” Dean murmured. “I don’t think you’re all the way here yet.”

“There...there was a fire. Jess—” his face twisted, suddenly, and Cas felt like he’d been slammed in the gut as Sam remembered what had happened to his girlfriend all over again. Dean shifted a little closer.

“Alright, Sammy, just give it a few.”

“Your brain is reprocessing everything, Sam,” Cas soothed. “I know it’s scary and it hurts but I promise it doesn’t mean you’ll lose Dean.”

“But, I—you were—”

“Or me,” Cas amended. Sam looked away from Cas to Dean.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning to push his face into Dean’s chest. “I’m...I...I can’t think—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Dean murmured, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “C’mon, take it easy. Nice, deep breaths, like Cas showed you. It’ll be clearer in a minute.”

“What’s going on?”

Gabriel appeared at the top of the stairs, a frown on his normally jovial face. Cas recognized it as his cue to step outside, and closed the door behind him.

“It’s alright,” Cas said. “Sam’s just...he has nightmares.”

“ _Nightmares_? _Lou_ had nightmares. _That_ sounded like someone being ax-murdered.”

“They’re intense.”

Dean poked his head out of the guestroom. “It’s alright,” he told them. “I’m gonna bunk in here for a bit, okay?’

“Does Sam need a drink?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Gabe followed Cas down the stairs. “That’s...just _dreams_?”

“I told you his girlfriend died in a fire,” Cas said.

“And the other one was shot and their father drove his drunk-ass into a truck. But still...there’s no _way_ that’s normal.”

“The doctors say it is. Post-traumatic stress. You don’t need to be a solider to have it, apparently.” Cas found a bottle of cold Gatorade in the refrigerator and poured some into a big glass with ice.

“Can’t they give him medicine? Sleeping pills or something?”

“He’s already on valium. It’s not safe to give him much else with anti-depressants.”

“He’s on those?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cas snapped. “Of course he is. Who coming out of rehab isn’t?”

“He seems...depressed isn’t the word I’d use. Anxious as hell, sure.”

“Anxiety and depression are frequently treated with the same drugs. If you’d paid any attention in psych class—”

“Don’t start, Cas. I’m not stupid, alright? You, of all people, should know that.” 

Cas softened. “I do, Gabe. Just...” he looked into his brother’s rarely earnest expression. “Growing up it felt like you and me were the only ones who thought there was anything strange about how we were raised. And I came out here because I wanted to help people with real problems. And I met Dean and Sam and...no matter how screwed up our family is, we couldn’t have done what they’ve done. Family’s not just an estate concern for them. They _live_ for one another. I—I can’t tell you what it’s like to be close to that.”

Gabriel looked uncomfortable. Cas ignored it and headed toward the stairs, Sam’s glass in hand. “Cas,” Gabe called as he started upstairs. “Listen. I’m not...I love our family. I miss you. I can’t—I can’t say I’m them. But you should know.”

Cas looked at his big brother. Knew he was doing what was all anyone ever could, which was the best he knew how. And smiled.

“I know, brother,” he said, and made sure Gabe smiled back before he set off up the stairs.

 

 


End file.
